


I strongly disagree! Let me tell you why!

by buck_y_bucks



Category: AU - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Skinny!Steve - Fandom, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes - Fandom, steve/bucky - Fandom
Genre: College AU, Kind of shrinkyclinks, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, bucky is missing his arm, kind of, proffesor AU, socialist steve rogers, they're both teachers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7799899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buck_y_bucks/pseuds/buck_y_bucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You said you wanted to talk. I don’t know if we ever got around to it.” Despite his breathlessness Steve sounds collected. </p>
<p>Bucky thinks back to the chatter of his classroom, the thin attention broken by shouts. He imagines himself telling Steve, “Your class has problems with volume control, man.” Instead, he says, “I can’t remember. I’ll see you around, yeah?” Bucky smiles, moving to turn. </p>
<p>“I’m hosting a formal debate on Friday night. 7 p.m. It’s about the taxation of the 1%.” It all falls out of Steve in a rush. “You’re welcome to come. You’re welcome to bring your girlfriend or..”<br/>He toes the ground, pointedly not looking at the other professor. </p>
<p>“I’ll come. Unfortunately for you, though,” Bucky starts, “It’ll just be me.” Steve pulls the sign out of his pocket. “I strongly disagree! Let me tell you why!” He doesn’t bother waving it, just holds it above his head. The two laugh again. </p>
<p>“See you then.” Steve says. Bucky echoes the sentiment, disappearing from the hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I strongly disagree! Let me tell you why!

**Author's Note:**

> I think Steve Rogers is a socialist and a social justice warrior.

“-the boom pilot is in a sticky spot. He’s lying on his stomach in the undercarriage, with nothing but a panel of reinforced glass and-” A shrill scream and a series of cheers interrupts Bucky. Sixty heads turn towards the sound, eyes wide. Chatter breaks innocuously across the silence and Bucky slaps his hand on the desk, petulantly trying to regain their attention. After several seconds their gazes wander back to him, moving to once again wield their pencil. Bucky smooths the wrinkles on his shirt, sighing. “As I was saying-” Another chorus of yells. Bucky swears his eyelid starts to twitch.

Teaching across from the esteemed, Professor of the Nation, was a lot more annoying than Bucky had assumed it would be. There’s always some kind of discourse going on, with disjointed shouting only slightly muffled by the thin walls. It’s not that Bucky doesn’t appreciate the obvious enthusiasm. He does! Hell, Bucky respects Steve Rogers. He’s read about him and his “revolutionary” teaching style in the paper. However, that same revolutionary teaching style interrupts him every single class period.. It robs him of precious lecture time. (If Bucky was being dramatic so be it. He could live with that dramatism.)

“As I was saying.” Bucky starts again, trying to reign in his restless room. Students were fidgeting now, offset and curious. People kept throwing sneaky glances at the wall. Bucky sighs, turning toward the blackboard. He writes quickly with the crisp chalk: ‘What is the most rewarding position on a plane?’ He waves his hand in an encouraging gesture. 

A small brunette from the front row says, “The Captain’s position, of course.” The girls next to her jostle her shoulders and smile knowingly.

Bucky sets the chalk down, folding his arm over his chest. He leans hazardously against his desk. “Why?” There is another startling noise from the adjacent classroom but Bucky holds her eyes. Her tongue moves across her lips.

“Because that’s the position with the most respect. Everyone trusts you, and believes in you.” Her dainty fingers knot in her lap. She looks down, seemingly abashed. “They know you can lead them, and keep them safe.” 

Bucky pushes of the desk and saunders into the center of the room. “So the Captain’s position would be the most rewarding, yes?” People nod their head and mumble their assent. “I am your Captain here. In this classroom, I am the Captain. You trust me to guide you, and in turn I teach you what you need to know. You respect me and I respect you all.” Bucky makes eye contact with whoever dares, looking pointedly. “I am the Captain here. Do not take away my most rewarding position because of some background noise.” When more whoops and hollers bleed through only a couple heads turn to gawk, but that’s OK with Bucky. He’s decided he doesn’t need his little speech to last long anyways.

The rest of the lecture goes without a hitch. The occasional interruption goes seemingly unnoticed by his students. When the clock hits the hour, Bucky stands and the class follows suit. He calls the class to attention and they exchange a brief salute. Given the order, the class breaks pseudo-rank and race towards the door, shouldering bags and giggling. A couple girls smile winningly as they pass. When the hall has emptied Bucky collects his papers, stuffing them into his disorganized satchel and tossing it across his back. 

The walk around the building to Steve’s classroom is weirdly nerve wracking. Bucky feels like an intruder, walking past posters that proclaim: “Raise boys and girls the same way!” “Protect trans kids!” Ribbons of varying colors are pinned to the walls. Bucky (admittedly) goes a little slack jawed, gaping at the decor. Finally, he’s at Steve’s door. The glass pane is printless and shiny, as if the man himself had just wiped it down. Something hard grows in Bucky’s stomach, squirreling up his throat to sit in the back of his mouth. The retired soldier raps politely on the door, weary of the papers that cover it. The one above the doorknob exclaims: “Consent is not sexy! It’s a basic human right!” After a few moments the door is opened.

Bucky has to tilt his chin down several inches to meet the kids’ eyes. A wicked blue, framed by soft blond lashes. His mannish jaw is still grappling with youthful curves. A pair of wired spectacles peek from the pocket of his striped button up.

“Ugh-” Bucky starts, suddenly feeling impish, “Is Mr. Rogers available?”

Thin lips fold into a tight smile, “I am Mr. Rogers.” He crosses his arms loosely on his chest, not looking defensive as much as weary. “Look, Mr. Rumlow- if you are here to talk about your son’s grade, you should know it’s a spitting reflection of his attitude towards this cla-”

“No!” Bucky interrupts, waving his hand wildly, “No, Jesus, i’m not some parent. I’m a professor here. Mr. Barnes? I was hoping we could talk.”

“Oh!” Steve’s thin fingers flutter towards his chest. Something genuine creeps into the corners of his eyes and he laughs. The blond gazes sweepingly at Bucky. “You’re not what I expected!” 

Without his permission, Bucky’s hand goes up to the tapered sleeve of his left arm. A hot flush rushes through him. He’s suddenly startlingly aware of the pins keeping it together, embarrassed by its emptiness. It’s a feeling he hasn’t struggled with since the beginning of the school year. Steve makes a soft sound, a clicking of his tongue, and pats Bucky’s good shoulder.   
“The arm is not what I was referring to, Mr. Barnes.” He takes his glasses from his pocket, fumbling them onto his nose. He squints funnily at Bucky, seemingly to take him in. “The girls were all telling me how handsome you are. I’m afraid you’re even more handsome than their whispers would’ve implied!” Steve’s face goes completely red, (seemingly of its own accord) but he smiles welcomingly. Bucky laughs despite himself. He notices Steve’s attempt to comfort him and appreciates it. “Anyways,” Steve starts, “Come in, come in!” 

The inside of the classroom is an explosion of colors. Every wall is covered with posters, some overlapping. Patches of bare paint wink at him. The look would’ve been garish anywhere else, but here it fits in. Several picket protest signs are leaning against the front of the classroom. The only one that Bucky can make out says: “Down with corporate greed!” The handwriting is loopy but the words are traced several times, the black bold against the red canvas. 

“Welcome to the first accredited classroom of Social Justice learning!” Pride is thick in Steve’s voice, and he gestures grandly around the room. Bucky notices after a moment that Steve is wearing suspenders, the gray fabric hanging from his apple core waist. Steve’s bare toes peek out from the wide bottom of his khaki slacks. 

“Where’s your desk?” Bucky asks, curiously peering around the room. The students chairs are in messy rows, some shoved together and others completely crooked. 

“I don’t use a desk. I put a bean bag at the front of the room. A desk it too formal. I’m not their teacher, here.” Steve says this very nonchalantly, moving to straighten someone's chair behind their desk. Bucky thinks back to his Captain speech, his need to completely control his classroom. Something warm prickles under his collar. “Here, I am just another activist. And together we learn about injustices and together we try to bring them into the light.” 

“Well..” Bucky starts. He means to say something profound. Instead he says. “Well, shit, Rogers. That’s.. That’s really cool.” Another healthy blush gathers on Steve’s cheeks. He looks down at the floor, abashed but seemingly pleased. Bucky rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ugh.. What kinds of, ugh, lessons do you teach?”

Steve moves to shrug, but he aborts the movement, completely noncommittal. Instead he moves to the front of the classroom and opens a steel filing cabinet. From the inside he pulls a popsicle stick with a glued index card. The attached card reads: “I strongly disagree! Let me tell you why!” After a moment Bucky realizes it’s a mini picket protest sign. He laughs and reaches to grab it from Steve, who gives it willingly.

“I present the class with facts at the beginning of class. I call it the status quo. I talk about current legislature and the like, and then, at any point, a student can hold up that sign and start what we like to call- the protest.” Steve looks fondly over his classroom, tucking his hands into his pockets, “The student who casted the initial objection the status quo has to provide an alternative solution to our current standards.” This time Steve really does shrug, his grin lopsided. “It’s pretty weird, I guess.” 

Bucky holds up the I strongly disagree! Let me tell you why! sign. Steve’s blue eyes wink with laughter. He makes an encouraging motion and says, “Tell me why then, Mr. Barnes.” 

This makes Bucky falter. Once again he rubs his neck, the index card ruffling his gelled hair. “Ugh.. Honestly, i’m shit at keeping my class under control.” Steve’s expression jumps from humored to surprised. It’s Bucky’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know man.. I just.. They’re always breaking rank to giggle and whisper and shit. And I just want them to be quiet and learn. You know?” Even as Bucky asks it, he knows Steve’s answer will be no-

“Of course I do, Bucky. Sometimes I won’t be a quarter through the lesson before someone starts their protest. I love the enthusiasm. I really do. But it’s so annoying, because I want them to protest with all the facts. A good activist is educated.” Steve fists his hands in his pockets. The shift makes his shirt slide, revealing the sharp cut of his collarbones. “I understand.”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “I just want them to be more respectful, I guess.” Steve laughs, walking towards a desk. He perches precariously on the edge of it. Bucky eats up the distance between them, sliding into one of the closer desks. He sets the small sign on the table and rubs his face petulantly. “Your class loves you, man. Even my students talk about you. Hell, your Captain America. Teacher of the Nation. I just- I just feel shitty. I’m a good sergeant. Or- or I was. I’m just a shitty teacher.” 

Something pokes Bucky’s cheek and he looks up. It’s Steve, less than an inch from his face, frantically waving the I strongly disagree! Let me tell you why! sign. Bucky chuckles despite himself, propping his face up on his hand. 

“When I first started teaching, it was U.S. History, in Oklahoma. I was strict, I gave a lot of homework, I pushed people to pass their AP exams. I thought the best way for students to learn would be to keep them quiet and contained. Keep them under my thumb.” Steve wiggles the digit as if to emphasize the point. His breath is warm where it ghosts over Bucky’s face. 

“They made good grades and passed the tests. But they were unhappy. They griped about it. And suddenly, one day, in the middle of a pop quiz, I had an epiphany. An epiphany, Mr. Barnes.” Steve scrambles from his seat, throwing his arms wide. “I wasn’t engaging. I wasn’t fun. I was nothing but a stick stuck straight in the mud. And well.. After that, I did better. Asked more questions. Opened the floor up for more discussions. And now.. Now i’m here.” Steve touches Bucky’s shoulder gently, his smile indulgent. “I’m here, being everyone's favorite Social Justice teacher. Here to stand up for the little guys.” 

Bucky can’t help but grin. “You’re the only one there is. You’re their favorite by default.”

Steve waves the tiny sign around again, laughing, “Still their favorite!” The two dissolve into silence. The ticking clock above the chalkboard echos loudly in the empty classroom. After several moments Bucky rises to leave. Bucky moves to shake Steve’s hand but it’s enveloped in a hug instead. Steve has to stand on the tip of his bare toes to wrap his arm around the others neck. Bucky lets his arm anchor Steve, lifting him slightly from the ground. 

It’s a weirdly intimate exchange, especially between such new friends. Bucky cannot find it in himself to be irked. Not with Steve’s wisp of a body against his barrel chest. The tight knot at the back of his mouth has completely disappeared. His confession has left him lighter, and surprised by his own openness.

It was hard, at least for Bucky, to not be honest with the only man who didn’t judge anyone for just about anything.

Bucky is mostly out of the door and down the hallway when Steve comes whirling out of his classroom. His glasses are askew from the sprint and his bony chest is heaving. Something rough catches at the end of each sharp exhale and Bucky falters, worried. Steve waves off his concern, pressing a hand into the cut of his side. He smiles wanly. 

“You said you wanted to talk. I don’t know if we ever got around to it.” Despite his breathlessness Steve sounds collected. 

Bucky thinks back to the chatter of his classroom, the thin attention broken by shouts. He imagines himself telling Steve, “Your class has problems with volume control, man.” Instead, he says, “I can’t remember. I’ll see you around, yeah?” Bucky smiles, moving to turn. 

“I’m hosting a formal debate on Friday night. 7 p.m. It’s about the taxation of the 1%.” It all falls out of Steve in a rush. “You’re welcome to come. You’re welcome to bring your girlfriend or..”  
He toes the ground, pointedly not looking at the other professor. 

“I’ll come. Unfortunately for you, though,” Bucky starts, “It’ll just be me.” Steve pulls the sign out of his pocket. “I strongly disagree! Let me tell you why!” He doesn’t bother waving it, just holds it above his head. The two laugh again. 

“See you then.” Steve says. Bucky echoes the sentiment, disappearing from the hall.

The following day Bucky comes to school in his combat uniform. The camo is a sandy green and the tanned shirt compliments his complexion. Several students eye the get-up wearily. Others are non-plussed. A handful of girls squeal and poke at each other. 

“I’ve decided that we’re going to start doing more discussions-” Bucky is interrupted by a swell of noise. He imagines a student jumping to their feet, wielding a mini symbol of protest. He imagines Steve’s disgruntled look at having been interrupted so early. 

Bucky doesn’t scowl when students turn towards the commotion. 

Instead, he encourages them to shout back.

**Author's Note:**

> Steve is definitely a socialist.


End file.
